


Hot Heat-of-the-Moment Sex Delivered

by zetsubou_hana (Sakura_no_Miko)



Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Angst, Desperate Sex, Epiphany, Floor Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, PWP, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, Slash, Yaoi, character injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-31
Updated: 2008-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:41:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakura_no_Miko/pseuds/zetsubou_hana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gumshoes gets shot, and Edgeworth reacts strongly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Heat-of-the-Moment Sex Delivered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://teagueful.livejournal.com/31002.html?thread=8384794#t8384794%20) on the Phoenix Wright Kink Meme:  
>  _I want hot, sweaty, loud, passionate, heat of the moment sex.  
>  I have no preference on whom or where. Though Edgey/Gumshoe would make this Anon a very happy clam._
> 
> Not so much a title as a descriptor of the fill. Slightly better than another "Untitled," though.

It all happened so fast.

One moment, they were investigating the crime scene, trying to find clues to track down an escaped murderer. The next moment, there was only a scream, and the weight of someone knocking him down.

In the hysteria, for a moment, he thought, _He’s dead. Because of you, he’s_ dead.

Strange, in the moment, all he could think of was, _Not me. I don’t deserve to be saved, Gumshoe._ No, not him. Not this weak, shell of man desperately trying to save his own life. Him, compared to that stupid lug, that friendly, loyal, courageous detective. No…

He’d barely been grazed by the bullet, nothing more than a line of red trailing down his arm and a bit of sweat on his brow. Even a few minutes’ difference, a few inches, and he might have been…

Gumshoe was heavy against him. He wasn’t moving, the shock of being hit…

Edgeworth hugged him, cradled him, more tenderly than he’s ever touched anyone since…since so many years ago…and, eventually, thanked whatever gods there were that the detective who so often managed to bungle things up and forget the most important things had, that morning, been wearing a bulletproof vest. 

After a trip to the hospital, Edgeworth found himself hailing a cab for both of them, saying the address to his own apartment. He was shaking, even if Gumshoe was smiling, smiling and saying “It’s alright, Mister Edgeworth, sir. I’m not hurt or anything big like that, nope.” Found himself insisting that the big, scruffy detective some up with him. 

Found himself dragging the larger man up against the door the moment it closed and kissing him deeply.

He wasn’t thinking straight. Shell shock, his mind supplied. Epiphany, his heart replied.

“Mister Edgeworth, I don’t think — ” Noble Gumshoe, shrugging, scratching his head, trying to pull away.

“No, don’t think,” Edgeworth said, his voice terribly quiet. His eyes were stinging. “Don’t let me think,” he begged softly. 

Those big, rough hands came up to cup the back of his head, the small of his back, pulling him close. The detective smelled of hospital antiseptic and faint gunpowder. He smelled of life. “Okay, Mister Edgeworth,” was all that needed to be said.

Edgeworth was not a man who thought about sex. He didn’t think about having hands smoothing down his bare skin, or wet lips devouring his own. He didn’t think about how two tongues would slip and slide over each other like fighting (or mating?) snakes. He’d definitely not thought about how sexy it could be to have saliva running from the edges of his mouth and sweat starting to coat his hot body. So hot.

Gumshoe had remarkable talented fingers. Somehow, he became more skilled in the heat of passion, deftly removing the frilly cravat without choking Edgeworth, undoing buttons without sending them flying, smoothing rough fingertips over every inch of bared skin. 

It was good the apartment had a lush, thick carpet, Edgeworth thought. The clothes made a poor bed, but he couldn’t take his mind (or his hands, or his mouth, for that matter) away from Gumshoe long enough to move anywhere but down. His mostly nude body stretched out against the floor, Gumshoe leaning over him, shirt only partially undone, pants (surprisingly sexily) unzipped, revealing a lovely, large bulge. 

Edgeworth didn’t recognize his own voice. He’d not heard himself moan in pleasure before. Or pleasure-pain. He’d never heard the gasps that could tear from his throat, the bestial groans, the panting breaths. Gumshoe cupped the hard flesh between his legs, and he nearly cried. So, instead, he began to kiss whatever he could get his lips on. He bit down when Gumshoe moved to fondle the heavy sacs between his legs, and Gumshoe moaned appreciatively. So Edgeworth amused himself by finding new ways to try and stifle his groans…for the moment, at least. 

His own elegant, smooth hands crept down Gumshoe’s strong chest, his soft (only a little flabby) belly, along prominent hipbones and soft curls of hair. The detective’s voice was exquisite when it was tempered with passion: deeper, rougher, punctuated in gasps and groans as Edgeworth carefully teased with manicured nails. 

When Gumshoe pulled his hand back and shrugged off his shirt and pants, Edgeworth stared at the body before him. So…masculine. Rough patches of skin, and scars. Fat, muscle — both of them quivered under his fingertips. Gumshoe spit onto his hand, stroking his hardness, then Edgeworth’s, before crawling atop the smaller man and rubbing their groins together enticingly. It was…intense, maddening, every tiny stroke of hard, sensitive flesh against hard, sensitive flesh. Gumshoe grabbed Edgeworth, pulled their bodies tight. 

Sweaty flesh rocked and slid together. Flesh, and hair, all growing wetter, hotter as they slid together, bucking against each other desperately. Edgeworth found his legs were creeping back together, closing around the detective’s large frame, and he used the leverage to press harder, harder. His hair was plastered to his face, and it was so hot he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, nothing but the hard rocking motion between them, digging his back into the floor and jerking back up into the air, squeezing his thighs against Gumshoe’s sides, harder and harder and…

He probably screamed. Was the room soundproof? He didn’t know. There was nothing but the heat, the sounds tearing out of his throat, the sheer rush of thrust and pouring out and jerking together.

He breathed.

His body felt feverish, yet soaked. He was starting to cramp up, his back crying out from the hard floor, his legs straining from being spread wide and squeezed tightly in. He felt sticky with sweat, and…other fluid. His groin was aching, chafed raw and they were still rocking together, less now, but the friction was getting painful.

Was there any part of his body not aching?

Gumshoe was gently setting him down, grabbing his shirt, wiping the tears and the sweat from his face, looking at him tenderly. His raw lips ached, but he kissed back anyway.

Ah. His heart seemed to be feeling just fine.


End file.
